Saving Santa
by StoryDiva
Summary: Joan is sent to save Santa on Christmas Eve. Written for a holiday challenge.


Title: Saving Santa  
  
Author: Storydiva (storydivagirl@hotmail.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the show. Have nothing but love for Barbara Hall and the writers of this faboo show.  
  
Author's Note: Written for a challenge posed regarding the holidays.  
  
Challenge: Write a holiday story involving Joan, her family, and her friends... and of course, God. Your choice of holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, or Winter Break.  
  
**  
  
How Joan found herself wandering through the park looking for Santa was one of those things she was going to chalk up to God's sense of humor. It would make an interesting story, if having conversations with God didn't give off a mentally unstable vibe. She could imagine the looks on her parent's faces when she showed up late to the annual Girardi Italian Pig-a-thon buffet- style dinner on Christmas Eve with the explanation that Santa Clause needed her help.  
  
First, coversations with God and now this, Joan thought to herself. She pulled her hat further down on her head to cover her ears and thought up different ways to share this evening with the family.  
  
1) The Funny Approach: Mom, Dad.you remember that Christmas when I caught you eating the cookies that I had left out for Santa and how it totally destroyed my imagination and trust in you? Yeah, well, I rescued Santa per God's instruction and he's a bit miffed you ate his cookies.  
  
2) The Direct Approach: Hi everyone! Sorry I'm late but Santa got stuck in an ice pond. I'm going to change and I'll be down in a minute.  
  
3) The Confused Approach: I'm late? I was supposed to be.where? Is this something new we've planned?  
  
Somehow Joan wasn't sure how any of this would go over with her family. God was his usual ask-me-no-questions-yet-provide-me-with-answers self (or whatever you call omnipotent creatures of the universe) and she left the conversation imagining God, Santa, and the Tooth Fairy all sitting around a poker table laughing at a human's lack of imagination.  
  
She was beginning to get frustrated-her fingers were numb, her lips were burning with cold, and she had no idea how she allowed herself to get suckered into this.  
  
Okay, so she didn't really have much choice when God was involved in things. It was a given that she would do what He asked of her, but there was no law, commandment, or whatever that stated she had to like it. She was allowed to complain and hate every minute of it, and by Omnipotent Being That Liked To Show Up Everywhere, she was going to take advantage of that fact.  
  
The ice rustled beneath her feet as she carefully mastered the bike path and the wind blew snow from the trees and it hit her like confetti on New Years Eve. The sky was a cobalt color, but the sun was nowhere to be seen, lost behind clouds and snow that cluttered the sky. Her breath clung in the air for a moment and a slight breeze pushed the smell of winter into her lungs.  
  
There was something about Christmas that Joan loved. It wasn't the presents, though presents were nice, because the blissful feeling around the holidays surpassed her belief in Santa. Maybe it was the fact that people were kinder at the holidays, more willing to overlook judgement, or maybe the feeling of hope innudating the air around her. It was like the Girardi's problems-from the simplest argument to the horrible pink elephant hanging over their heads ala Kevin's wheelchair)-faded into the background for two days of the year and things were perfectly fine, like something out of an episode of Little House on the Prairie.  
  
Whatever it was, Joan was happier around the holidays. She had managed to even get Grace to join her while she baked ("I don't know about you, Girardi. Just when I think I have you figured out, you pull something like this...you better not tell anyone I'm here or I'll kill you.") cookies and Adam actually muttered a "thank you" when she gave him two tickets to the an art exhibit at the local gallery before walking off. She even found herself refraining from muttering nasty comments about her younger brother's journey further toward dorkdom.  
  
Things were definitely looking up when she looked through holiday-colored glasses. That was until God decided to send her on this wild goose chase.  
  
She was sitting at a table in the mall while she waited for Luke to finish his Christmas shopping (undoubtedly purchasing her a bottle of some horrible perfume that smelled like pine trees for the fourth year in a row), minding her own business, and pretending to read her winter break required book. Joan tried to get into the book, but the Old Man and the Sea was no match for her anger toward her brother, Kevin.  
  
Something happened at his job which put Kevin in a foul mood. Joan decided she must've been wearing a "take it out on me" bulls-eye on her chest when he arrived home because Kevin yelled at her about leaving a wrapper in his car. A wrapper. One dinky piece of cellophane that was probably barely visible amidst the numerous McDonalds bags littering the backseat. He reamed her good before going to his room and slamming the door, leaving her in the kitchen with a shocked expression on her face. Joan had stood there and taken it-a no, no in sibling relations. Take one bit of verbal abuse without reciprocation and she might as well wear a "I'm your bitch" sign for the rest of her life.  
  
No, she wanted revenge; to belittle her brother the way he did on her favorite holiday. She knew it went against the Christmas spirit, but surely even Santa would understand that sometimes big brothers need to put in their place.  
  
This is what she was thinking as she perused the yellowed pages of Hemingway, when an elf (yes, an elf) approached her table and sat down.  
  
He removed his hat and brushed it over his forehead, letting out a small groan. He said, "Who would've thought that Christmas Eve would be Santa's busiest day at a mall?"  
  
"Um, are you lost?"  
  
"No, but I know someone who is, Joan."  
  
She closed the book she was reading and leaned across the table. Joan said, "This is so not cool. What if people see me talking to a little person? It's not bad enough that my social life is nonexistent, but let's have the rumor mongerers starting stories about me and Santa's righthand man."  
  
"There's something I need you to do," he replied neutrally. She was used to this by now. It didn't matter what she said or how she acted-something almost therapeutic at times-God didn't get upset or chide her for behaving as she did. He always remained focused on what he needed her to do.  
  
"Don't I get Christmas off?" Joan asked.  
  
"Sure." She smiled as he stood up. A small voice in her head told her that it was too easy and sure enough as He walked away from the food court, He called out, "As soon as you do this for me."  
  
Joan sighed, gathered up her belongings, and hurried to catch up with him. She said, "Whatever. As long as this doesn't involve me following the North Star to a manger."  
  
"Nothing like that."  
  
"Okay, well?"  
  
"I need you to save Santa Claus."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"Santa, Joan. He's in Hamilton Park. Make sure he gets home."  
  
"To where? The North Pole?"  
  
"It's important that he's home tonight."  
  
"One of these days, I'm going to want more information."  
  
"One of these days, you'll realize that all the information you need, is in here, Joan," he said, reaching up and tapping his temple. He stopped moving and turned to face her. He smiled and said, "Merry Christmas."  
  
"Merry Christmas," she called out as he walked off, getting lost in the crowd of last minute shoppers.  
  
That was that. Forgotten were her plans to curl up in bed listening to holiday music before people arrived at her house. Long gone were any schemes involving tinsel and Kevin's teddy bear (He maintained that it would hurt Mom's feelings if he got rid of it, but Joan was so onto him.) Instead, she was about to act out some bad Lifetime holiday movie about locating Santa and saving Christmas.  
  
Or something.  
  
It wasn't like it was the real Santa Claus. It couldn't be. Even if there was a Santa, which she wasn't committing to at all, why would he be skulking around the backwoods of a town like Arcadia? Didn't he have reindeer to fly and milk to drink?  
  
"Leave me be," a voice called out as a bottle flew the air and shattered a few feet away from Joan. It pulled her out of her thoughts and brought her back to her current situation in Hamilton Park.  
  
Joan looked upwards and complained, "You didn't mention he was a nasty Santa." She squinted through the snow and noticed a man in an oversized red suit with a fake white beard struggling to escape from a large snow drift. Joan rolled her eyes and made her way over to Santa, watching him intently to make sure no more bottles flew at her head.  
  
"Go away! I can take care of myself!" the man hollered, flapping his arms around haplessly, managing to get himself wedged further into the pile of snow.  
  
Joan shook her head as she walked over to him, careful not to end up stuck too, and said, "It seems you've done a bang up job so far, Santa."  
  
"Go away," he repeated. This time it was little more than a whisper, as if he had resigned himself to her help.  
  
"What if a little kid passed by? You want to be responsible for ruining some little girl's Christmas?"  
  
"Look lady, if I wanted to be yelled at, I'd go home."  
  
Joan grabbed onto his arm and pulled with all her might. After a few attempts, she said, "You need to help me with this, Santa."  
  
"Stop calling me, Santa. My name's not Santa."  
  
"Whatever Santa."  
  
"It's Tom."  
  
Joan again glanced upward. Again, she felt the need to point out that there were a million other things she could be doing on her holiday, but there she was-middle of the woods with a mean Santa that smelled like a brewery. Sometimes she really disliked being God's whatever-she-was-exactly. She took a restorative breath and managed, "Fine, Tom. I'm not strong enough to pull you out all by myself. If you want to catch hypothermia and end up with gang-green, fine. I'll be on my merry way. There's a cup of hot chocolate with my name on it waiting for me at home anyway. However, if you've decided that to die in a snow drift is a bit, well, crazy...help me get you out!"  
  
He cursed under his breath and motioned to a large branch on the side of the drift, sticking out of the snow. He said, "Use that, Einstein."  
  
"Santa's snippy. Who knew? First God and now Santa."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," Joan replied, grabbing a hold of the branch. She lowered it toward the man and ordered, "On the count of three try to climb out of there." She fixed her footing on the ground and said, "Ready? One.two.three!"  
  
Joan felt her feet sliding toward the ditch until she lost her hold on the branch and fell backwards. The impact caused a pile of snow to fall off the branches above her and hit her in the head. Joan moaned and laid there until she could make out someone's silhouette glistening against the backdrop of a falling sun. A hand reached out to her. She took it and was immediately lifted off her feet, suddenly face-to-face with Tom or Santa or miserable human being.  
  
He said, "Thanks, I guess."  
  
"Geez, next time with a bit more emotion."  
  
"What do you want? A poem on how grateful I am written in blood?"  
  
"Leave it to me to save DevilSanta."  
  
"Mall is closed, kid," he said, removing the beard from around his neck to reveal a scruffy brown goatee and throwing it over his head. He leaned in close and said, "Santa's off duty for another year."  
  
She waved a hand in front of her face to push away the odor of his breath and said, "Who knew that Santa turned into a jerk once the mall closed?"  
  
"You don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Fair enough, but wandering around a park isn't going to solve anything."  
  
"You've done your good deed for the night. Night, night, sweetheart," he said, waving exaggeratedly in her face.  
  
This is what she was giving up her evening for? A man that reeked of whiskey and spoke to her like she sitting on his lap asking for a pony. Joan crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Did you ever hear of the philosophy that once you save someone's life, that person becomes your responsibility?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, I have, and that means I can't go anywhere until I know you're okay. And it's really cold out here, so you better not be planning to park it here tonight. Do you have a place to go?"  
  
"I'm not going home. My family would be better off if I never went home again."  
  
"That's not true," Joan responded. She had no idea if what she was saying was actually true-maybe his family was better off-but something told her to continue, "I doubt your family would be better off without you."  
  
Tom eyed her over and said, "Yeah, they are."  
  
Joan sighed. This wasn't going according to her timeframe. She was supposed to be home by now. But that thought passed when she got a good look at the guy. In that moment, it felt like a sledgehammer hit her in the gut and as her eyes wandered over the man before her, she felt tears swelling in her eyes. This could just as easily be one of her relatives. Who was to say that this sad, pathetic form wouldn't be one of her brothers in a few years? And if God had sent her to him, there had to be a reason. Right?  
  
Time suddenly didn't matter so much. She asked, "Do you have any kids?"  
  
"Two little girls," he said. He rubbed his eyes and added, "And they're going to grow up the same way I did-thinking their 'ole man is a waste of space."  
  
"I doubt it."  
  
"What do you know? You're a kid."  
  
"I'm old enough to know when someone is indulging in self pity," Joan countered, stepping closer to him. She put her hands on her hips-a move that channeled her mother-and said, "Speaking as someone who is daddy's little girl, I can tell you that there is nothing my father could do that would make me think I'm better off without him."  
  
"That's you."  
  
"That's every little girl. Fathers can get away with a lot more than other people, so don't abuse the privilege and go home."  
  
"Get out of here, Dr. Laura," he replied, sitting himself down on the snow.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Nevermind," he paused and looked up at her, "I'm sure a nice kid like you has a family to get home to. Go."  
  
Joan growled under her breath. What this guy needed was a good smack in the face, but somehow she doubted that was what God had in mind. She sat down next to him, wincing as water seeped through her jeans, and asked, "What's wrong, Santa?"  
  
"Are you kidding me with this?"  
  
"Let's just say that if I don't help you get a grip, someone is going to be really pissed off with me," Joan replied, motioning upward.  
  
"Lady, I think you're crazier than me."  
  
"It's Joan. Not kid or lady. Joan," she stated. She hugged herself tightly as the wind blew against them. She looked at the guy and said, "Now stop with the woe-is-me routine and go home to your family. It's Christmas Eve. Do you really want to destroy your family like that-on Christmas no less?"  
  
"I've been out of work for months, minus this seasonal gig, and when I go home, I have to look at my kids' faces when Santa doesn't come this year. I have to deal with the disappointment and anger that my wife feels for me because I'm a failure as a husband."  
  
"Not being able to buy presents doesn't make you a failure. That's not what's important."  
  
"Tell that to my daughter when she comes home crying because all the other kids her age got the newest toys."  
  
"So instead of your kids being upset about an uneventful Christmas, they can think about how their dad never came home."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Joan, like I said," Joan replied. She stood up, pulled out her wallet from her coat pocket, and took out the last of her allowance left over from Christmas shopping. She handed him thirty bucks and said, "It's not much, but at least you can get your kids something.and call it intuition, but I think your luck is going to change, Santa. There must've been a reason we met."  
  
Santa wrapped his fingers around the money, but shook his head, "I can't take this."  
  
"Yes, you can. It's Christmas."  
  
"I can't-"  
  
"It's not about money. Christmas is about being with the people you love and enjoying time together. It's the one day where you accept the people around you for who they are, despite their annoying habits or the petty arguments."  
  
"But-"  
  
Santa seemed to be absorbing what she said and she wasn't going to give him the chance to get caught up in his self-pity again. She cut him off, "Do something nice for someone else to repay me and promise me you'll go home."  
  
He nodded and Joan brushed the snow off her pants. She glanced around and said, "I need to get home. Can I trust you not to get caught in any more snowbanks, Santa?"  
  
When he nodded again, and she said, "Good. That's no way to spend Christmas."  
  
"Where the heck did you come from, Joan?"  
  
"I happened to be wandering by. I'm glad I could help you. Merry Christmas!"  
  
Joan waved and walked back up the bike path, humming "Jingle Bells" as she moved. She noticed a star shoot through the sky and she smiled, wondering if maybe God was showing his appreciation for a job well done. As much as she loathed to admit it sometimes and no matter how persistent (nicer wording for "annoying") Oh-Omnipotent-One could be, Joan reveled in the good feeling that coursed through her when she helped someone. It made everything else fall away for a brief moment in time and filled her with the sense that she mattered in some small way, like her existence was a necessary ingredient in the universe running smoothly.  
  
Joan hurried up the front path of her house and before she could reach for it, Kevin swung the door open and shouted, "You can call off the search party, Dad. Joan's back."  
  
She smiled at her brother and threw her arms around him. She said, "I love you, Kevin. Merry Christmas."  
  
"Are you pulling an It's A Wonderful Life on us, squirt?" Kevin replied, patting his sister on the back for pulling away.  
  
He eyed her over appraisingly and she asked, "What?"  
  
Before he could reply, her mother came rushing into the room. She had that look on her face, the one that said you-made-me-worry-and-for-that-you- shall-perish gaze and was ready to yell, but Joan ran over and hugged her. She grinned and said, "Merry Christmas, Mom. When's dinner going to be ready? I'm starved."  
  
"Sweetheart, do you realize I was about to call my men-"  
  
She turned to her father, kissed his cheek, and said, "Sorry. I had to help a friend with last minute Christmas arrangements. I didn't expect it to take so long."  
  
"You're in an awfully good mood," her mom noted.  
  
"She probably made up with Adam and the two of them were kissing under the mistletoe," Luke commented from the stairs.  
  
"I even love you today, freako, so I'll overlook your disturbing sense of humor," Joan replied.  
  
She met her family's curious gazes and said, "What? It's Christmas. I'm trying to enjoy the holiday. Anyone have a problem with that?"  
  
"Well, I, for one, am a bit worried about having Stepford Joan for a sister," Kevin replied.  
  
"Ha, ha," Joan said.  
  
"Dinner is on the table. I'm sure our guests will be happy to know you've graced us with your presence," her mother replied, motioning for the family to head to the dining room.  
  
Joan started to walk off, but Kevin reached out and grabbed her hand. She turned around and said, "It's fine. I forgive you."  
  
He tilted his head and smirked at her, "Forgive me? I was about to yell at you for scaring the hell out of your big brother. You're not allowed to do that."  
  
Joan smiled, "Fair enough."  
  
"Merry Christmas, Joan."  
  
"Merry Christmas, Kevin."  
  
{/fin} 


End file.
